


Nemo taught me to touch the butt

by klassmartin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, I can't believe I used a kids movie reference for my story about butts, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension, all of the butts, butts butts butts, mostly just crack, no regrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9454712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/klassmartin
Summary: A collection of drabbles revolving around Lydia and Stiles's obsession with each others butts because why the hell not.***Chapter 8  - In which Lydia may be a little irrational, but It's all Stiles's fault.If Scott McCall doesn’t answer his phone in the next two seconds, she’s going to commit multiple bloody murders to him, over and over, until the end of time. There's going to be a lot of blood, maybe some burning, and she could probably work up a few decent banshee screams that will crush his stupid little uneven face that won't answer the goddamn phone.The line clicks, and she’s about to begin her scolding when:“Don’t answer the phone, she’s being ridiculous.”“She’s worried.”“She’scrazy.”





	1. Lacrosse

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this came from but it's really amusing me to write them. I never wanted to jump on the drabble train buuuuuut I didn't really want to call this a story because there is very little plot involved and might not be posted chronologically.
> 
> (If you have a spare moment and want to smile, google image search "finding nemo touch the butt". You will not be disappointed.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lydia is dragged to watch practice, and winds up rather enjoying herself. Set between Season 5 & 6.

Lydia is not stupid. She’s perfectly aware that pretty much everyone on the planet has one, and it’s not like she hasn’t admired a fair few in her time (it’s pretty much the only reason she let the boys drag her to that superhero movie that one time). Rationally she knows that really, it’s just a collection of muscle and fatty deposits and it’s really only societal stereotypes that have planted the idea of such a thing being physically attractive, it’s just… She’s never really noted one in particular until now.

Stiles has a  _ fantastic  _ ass .

It’s hardly her fault. He’s always hiding the damn thing away under the hem of his ridiculous plaid shirts, even when he started wearing minimally tighter pants (okay, she likes fashion, _sorry_ for noticing what her friends wear). Plus, they spend way too much of their time running away from scary creatures determined to kill them. She doesn’t have time to stare at anyone’s butt, never mind the butt of her best friend.

Ugh. Everything was going so. Fucking. Well.

And then it’s been two months of nothing on the supernatural front and Malia has spent her free time working on her pop culture references, which means she has a hundred misguided ideas of what high school is supposed to involve. Somehow that has translated to her being dangerously close to getting frost bite in her toes, her nose running, hair tousled around her head like she hasn’t brushed it in three days. Her toe is tapping incessantly against the bleacher, and she’s barely keeping up with the plays, when a whistle blows and jolts her from the equation she’s running through in her head.

“Woo! Go 24!” Malia jumps up in her seat, waving her hands in the air in excitement.

“Malia, you don’t need to cheer, they’re just practicing. This isn’t a real game.”

“I’m just being supportive.” The werecoyote falls back to the bench beside her. “What’s got you so cranky?”

“I’m not cranky, I’m cold.” Lydia twists her hands further into her coat sleeves. “Shouldn’t you be doing your chemistry homework?”

Lydia doesn’t hear what is grumbled under her friend’s breath, but she drags out her books nonetheless.  Malia flicks through the pages so quickly that she’s pretty sure at least two of them rip.

On the field they’re running drills, and she casts a cursory glance at the team to identify the members of her pack. Scott’s head is tilted towards Liam, words passing between them in quick succession. Corey is spinning his stick in the air, second in line to shoot, and Stiles is gasping for breath in the goal, hands braced on his knees. Lydia snorts at the sight, though she almost feels sorry for him because she had seen Coach yelling furiously at the team as they did suicide drills about ten minutes ago.

And then they start shooting, and Stiles starts moving, and she’s completely unable to look away.

He’s getting a lot better at lacrosse, and she knows how hard he tries to match the skill level of his supernaturally enhanced teammates, but goalie has never really been his best position on the field.

Not that she  _ at all  _ minds when he bends over to collect the ball he’s missed, because  _ holy shit Stiles has an amazing butt. _

And, well, if she spends the rest of practice casually admiring it, then who can really blame her?


	2. Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Stiles take a completely innocent walk to the library together. Set shortly after the defeat of the Ghost Riders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. AM. SOBBING.  
> That episode was simultaneously horrific and INCREDIBLE. All the memories were amazing but oh my god, the memories tore my heart out. I honestly don't think I'm capable of waiting a whole week for the finale, I don't think I can take it.  
> (Also. Scott McCall, captain of the Stydia ship, who has no need to go down with it because he knows THAT SHIP WILL SOAR)

The lunch bell has rung and Stiles is rummaging through his locker, trying to decide which of the seven mountains of catch-up work he is going to tackle. Really, he doesn't know why he's being subjected to this. It's hardly his fault he got kidnapped by some creepy looking cowboys and not just any old kidnapping either, l ike, holy shit, he gets kidnapped to _another fucking_ _ dimension  _ and everyone forgets him - he’s wiped from existence. So how is it his fault that he couldn't hand in his Chemistry report?

But because he truly has the Best Friends In The Entire World it doesn’t stick. Best friend Lydia remembers him, and helps best friend Scott and best friend Malia remember, and together the best friend trio do weird freaky hypnotic shit, bring him back and save the day! Did he mention he has the Best Friends In The Entire World?

But, because that hadn't been sucky enough, his miraculously returned teachers decide he has to "put in some extra effort so you can graduate, Stiles" and that "you really need to get some college applications in because you're already missing deadlines". And by teachers, he mostly means his girlfriend, who insists they spend all of their free time studying and writing college essays. 

His girlfriend being the phenomenal Lydia Martin.

Did you know Lydia Martin loves him too?

(Spread the word, he wants everyone to know; Lydia Martin loves him too.)

“I accidentally had a sip of this, and it was revolting. How do you drink this?” Lydia holds out a coffee cup, expression displeased. Stiles stacks her textbooks on top of his, shuffles until they’re supported by his elbow, and accepts the gift.

“If you insist on me having decaff, then I insist on getting creative with it.”

“I can barely tolerate you as is, never mind when you’re caffeinated.” They begin walking to the library to meet Scott, Lydia’s hand slipping into his. “Did you finish your Maths questions?”

“Of course I -”

“Your pages were still blank as of this morning when you sent me the photo of that ridiculous water stain -”

“It looked exactly like Nicki Minaj, Lyds!”

“-So I don’t know why you’re bothering to lie to me.”

Stiles furrows his eyebrows, letting their fingers link together more comfortably. “Do you really trust me so little?”

“Why do you expect me to trust you when you’ve just lied to me not ten seconds ago?”

They reach the entrance to the library and Stiles gives her his best pout. “What’s the point in having a future Field’s Medal winner be in love with me if she doesn’t do my homework?”

Her mouth twitches for a fraction of a second and she covers it by taking a long sip of her drink. “I won’t be in love with you much longer if you can’t even graduate high school.”

Stiles steps closer to her, her coffee cup warm against his chest. “Sorry, I think I missed that. What did you say?”

Lydia keeps her face disinterested. “That you’re not even capable of graduating?”

“Before that.”

“You’re completely untrustworthy?”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Stiles sighs dramatically. “Lydia…”

Rising onto her toes, Lydia lets her lips graze his. “Yes Stiles…”

Something slips into his back pocket, and he smirks when he realises it’s her hand, fingers flexing in what can only be described as an vagrant act of PDA rule breaking.

The library door opens and an uncomfortable looking Liam appears. “I really don’t wanna break this whole… Thing up,” he cringes, gesturing to the arm attached to the hand still trespassing in his pocket, “but if I don’t go now I won’t get to class on time.”

Lydia gives him a look like it’s somehow Liam’s fault they’re blocking the doorway. Stiles opens his mouth to respond, ready with fifteen long-winded comments that will _guarantee_ his tardiness, when he becomes seventy percent sure that Lydia’s nails have cut through his jeans. (Banshees don’t have claws right? He’s not somehow gone two years without noticing that one key piece of information?)

“I’ve seen you and Hayden engaging in much worse, in front of a lot more people, that is quite frankly disturbing considering you’re both, what? Eight years old?”

Stiles snorts so hard he can taste his drink in his nose. He has to press his face into her hair to keep from laughing too hard.

Liam’s brain appears to have been broken, because he spends a whole ten seconds gawping like a goldfish. 

When the beta has scuttled off, Stiles releases his laughter. “Oh my God Lyds, have I mentioned recently how much I love you?”

Her hand slips from his pocket to take possession of his drink before it sloshes onto her crisp white blouse, and she rolls her eyes affectionately. “Come on, lover boy. You’ve got some Math to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard calling it Math not Maths.


	3. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott is not impressed with Stiles inability to control his hormones. And stop trying to make him look at Lydia's butt! Set just before Season 6.

“This is a terrible mistake,” Stiles groans, scrubbing his face with both hands.

“If you say one more thing about Lydia’s... I’m going to wolf out and cause some serious damage to your organs.”

“I’m sorry Scotty, but what do you honestly expect me to do?” Stiles gestures not-at-all-subtly in her direction. “Look at her, bro. _Look_ at her.”

“Please stop making me look at her butt. It’s like asking me to check out my sister.”

He’s trying. Honestly, he’s spent approximately seventy six minutes trying to look anywhere else. But her dress might as well have been painted on it’s so damn tight, and her hair is tied up in this complicated half up do that makes the angles of face look like they're drawn by Monet. She’s been dancing with Malia and Hayden for twenty one minutes, hips swaying in what can only be described as a hypnotic rhythm, and he thinks he might be tachycardic and be in immediate need of medical assistance.

Scott makes a disgruntled noise and steps back. “Dude, stop getting your insane amount of hormones all over me.”

“Excuse me for having a perfectly normal sex drive.” Stiles rolls his eyes, gulping down half of his drink. “It’s hot in here right? I’m sweating a little. Or a lot. Unrelated, but I think she’s going to give me a heart attack, because there is no way that wearing something _that tight_ is legaaaaaaa- Hey Lyds! How’s life?”

The redhead (of his dreams) is next to him and he has no idea when she got there. “I don’t know why I bother, there’s no way I can keep up with supernatural levels of energy.” Lydia plucks the drink from his grip and downs it, swiping a manicured finger at the drop that dares to escape her deep red lips. There's a smile on her face that's become a rarity over the past two years, especially since Eichen House. But Lydia is smiling at him, and she elbows him fondly like she doesn't have a care in the world, letting herself rest against his arm. “Why are you both lurking in a corner?”

Scott clears his throat. Stiles guffaws. “No reason,” they say in a unison that can only be forged from fourteen years of friendship.

Lydia’s eyes dart between them, still sharp as a tac despite the alcohol. “Who's the girl?”

Her question somehow causes his knees to give way for just a moment, and she doesn't even blink as she grips his arm to right him. “Wh-What are you - what would give you that impression?”

Lydia turns her body towards him, annoyingly seeming to have guessed Scott is not involved. “Either you've been drinking red wine again, or someone has caught your eye because you are blushing so hard!” She's prodding his flushed cheek and Lydia’s laugh is a soft breeze against his ear. Scott chokes trying to hide his chuckle.

“Speaking of drinking.” Stiles averts his gaze to his stolen empty cup. “Another one for the lady?”

He hot steps it to the kitchen before he gets a response. He takes his time browsing what is way too many empty bottles of spirits, until he finds one he deems adequate. There’s no point measuring since Scott is the designated driver so Stiles just counts to four before capping the bottle.

“Is it Malia?” Lydia appears at his shoulder and he jumps four foot in the air. How does she keep doing that?!

“Is what Malia?”

Leaning against the kitchen counter beside him, she holds out an unopened bottle of dirt-cheap lemonade for him. There’s a curl wrapped around one finger and her lips are twisted in thought. “It’s obviously not Hayden. What about Jessica? Ooh, is it Jessica?! I definitely saw her looking your way earlier.”

Stiles finishes the drink and hands it to her, finding a clean cup (with some difficulty) to create another for himself. “Which Jessica? Massachusetts Jessica or baseball Jessica?”

“Baseball Jessica, obviously. Massachusetts Jessica moved back to live with her sister, didn't you hear about it?”

Drink complete, Stiles lets the alcohol burn his throat. He _definitely_ should not be allowed to make drinks. “That sucks, I heard she’d been on a few dates with Greenburg. No wonder he’s gone so hard on the booze tonight.” The teen in question chooses that moment to shout something about a keg flip. “Oh come on, really? It’s like they’re asking for my dad to break this up.”

Lydia is staring at him, a crease between her eyebrows that he wants to smooth away with his thumb. In an effort to distract, Stiles leans next to her, gesturing with his drink to the crowd. “I’m kinda glad we never got to do any of this. I’d rather be possessed again than spend every weekend trying not to get vomit on my shoes.”

Despite the loud music, Stiles hears her breathing hitch and regrets bringing it up. Still a sore subject. Got it.

“I don’t know, it’s kinda nice to feel like an average senior again.” Her tone is too casual to be sincere, eyes focussed on the game of beer pong just visible through the doorway.

“Nice try, Lyds, but the word ‘average’ has never and will never be used to describe anything about you.”

Laughter slips through her lips before she can control it, and she bites down to stop it. “My height is average.”

“Technically you’re about an inch below the American average.”

Lydia opens her mouth, intent on responding, and then snaps it shut. Instead she slides closer and rests her temple on his shoulder. "This was almost my life. If I hadn't met Allison..."

Stiles thinks of everything she's been through since then, all the pain and suffering, the lives lost, the constant terror at knowing that monsters are not just something joked about around a campfire. "Any regrets?"

Twisting her head, Lydia looks up at him, her smile breathtaking. Strawberry blond hair is tickling his arm and there's something in her eyes that makes his heart skip. Lydia presses herself into his side, nuzzles her nose into his neck, and when she inhales it feels like he's swallowing sand. "Not at all."

It feels like a moment, like they're standing on a knife's edge and his next move chooses the direction they fall. It would only take three inches of movement to kiss her, his hand on her back twitching with the desire. But his hesitation lasts long enough that she splutters out a giggle, and he remembers the half empty bottle of vodka in the backseat of the car, the shots they'd done when they arrived, and that even though he'd paced himself, she hadn't. He lets the moment fade, pulls away to offer her a simple smile, and relaxes when she returns it.

"I think it's time for you to start enjoying yourself," she says, tapping the bottom of his cup with her fingertips. "Drink up, and come dance with me."

He could not finish his drink quickly enough.

Both their cups drained, Lydia is quick to dispose of them, bending to put them into the recycling because this is Lydia Martin we're talking about.

As she goes to return to the front room, she pauses and turns back to him, hand stretched towards him. His eyes _definitely_ do not return to her face fast enough.

“You coming?”

“Wh- No, not yet, why would y- _Oh_. Yeah. Let's go.”


	4. College Prep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia try to finish their preparations for going to college, but they're very easily distracted. Set in the little break between defeating the Ghost Riders and the last day of high school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M JUST CASUALLY HYPERVENTILATING STILL. DON'T MIND ME. JUST SIX YEARS OF MY LIFE SUDDENLY HAVING MEANING.  
> GUYS IT FINALLY HAPPENED.  
> I actually wrote this before 6x10 but it fits perfectly soooooo.

“Stop it.”

Stiles looks way too innocent. “Excuse me?”

“I can feel you staring at my ass.” Lydia looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Stop it.”

“That’s an egotistical claim to make.”

“Claim would imply I could be wrong.” Lydia turns away from his crime board, arms crossing against her chest. “And I’m never wrong.”

It takes him a moment to reply, and when he does it’s to her cleavage. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Dropping the blue string to his desk, Lydia saunters towards him, confidence peaking as he clears his throat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You know, the benefit of me being your girlfriend is that you can look…” Gripping the armrests of his desk chair, she leans over him so he can see down her shirt. “...and touch.”

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes, practically ogling her as she grazes her teeth over the pulse point on his neck. His has a white knuckle grip on his jeans, breath stuck in his throat. Lydia creates a trail of kisses across his jaw, eyelashes fluttering against his orbital bone. He chases her lips but she retreats, straightening up and flashing him a predatory smile.

“There are two ways this can go.” Lydia preens as he balances on the edge of the chair, eyes ravishing her as she tugs her sweater over her head. His sweater, technically. Whatever, she wears it more than him anyway. “We can carry on with our task, finish our research, make some calls. Or…” Lydia reaches under her arm and the only sound in the room is the zip of her dress lowering and her heart pounding in her ears. His eyes, a deep lusting brown, are stuck on the red scrap of lace against the pale skin of her hip. “We could be completely irresponsible, ignore the deadlines, and you could investigate if I’m wearing a bra.” One of the straps slips down her arm, a guttural groan escaping his throat. Lydia bites into her lower lip. “Not to spoil anything, but… I’m not.”

There’s goosebumps across her arms and her skin is flushed with the heat of his gaze. She wants the feel of his fingertips to be implanted in her skin, to crawl inside of him and make him her home. She wants to devour him, to ruin him for every other girl, make it known to the world over that he belongs to her and she belongs to him. She wants to curl herself around him; to protect him; to heal him. 

Stiles falls to his knees before rather ungracefully jumping up and playing with the hem of her dress. She can feel his hands trembling against her thighs, trying to contain some of the energy crackling under his skin. “Holy shit, Lyds, what…”

Lydia has an intense dislike towards this part of Stiles. She hates when he holds back, because sometimes he still thinks she’s fragile, that he can break her. She’s already broken, just as much as he is, but he’s yet to learn that every time he touches her, she feels a little damaged, a little more whole.

So she takes a hand and places it over her heart, lets him feel her heart slamming against her ribs. The way he’s looking at her makes it skip, her toes curling into the carpet. “It’s okay,” she breathes, voice failing her. “Stiles, you won’t hurt me.”

His eyes close, he shakes his head, and then in one tug her dress is off. A grunt rumbles through his chest, and his fingers slot into the gaps between her ribs. Lydia hooks a finger into the waistband of his trousers, pulling him ever closer.

“Fuck college prep,” he croaks.

“I’d really rather you fuck me instead.”

They don’t waste much time after that.


	5. Clinic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Stiles tick off an important item on their summer to-do list. By to-do they mean to do each other.

Stiles is wreaking havoc on her neck, his bitten nails scraping at the skin of her stomach, dress pooled around her waist as he presses his crotch between her legs. He’s mumbling something undoubtedly filthy, but her heart is pounding too loudly in her ears to manage much else but let herself succumb to him. Blindly groping behind her, her hungry fingers make contact with his ass for half a second before he huffs and forces her hand back to the wall. 

“Stiles,” she barks. He  _ knows  _ how much she loves his ass, and she can’t bear not touching him in some way.

“Lydia,” he mocks, but his tone is offset by the way he caresses the scars on her waist, reverent in his pursuit of showing how much he cares, how happy he is that she’s alive and standing in front of him. He worships her, even the parts that have been damaged and torn, and as he traces the mottled, puckered skin, she feels him mouthing her name like a prayer into the expanse of her neck.

Then his hand slips into her underwear. “Holy sh-”

“If you want this to have even a modicum of success, you’re going to have to be at least a little quiet.” Lydia grinds back into him, the space between them infinitely small but too far for her liking. Her skin is ablaze everywhere he touches, lungs burning from lack of oxygen because there’s no way she can take a proper breath when Stiles is committing such delightful sins to her body.

A low whine escapes her despite his warning. “Then stop being such a fucking tease.”

Stiles falters, surprise making him bite down on her shoulder, and the noise she makes is not one she was previously aware she could produce.

“Lydia,” he moans, his forehead pressed to the damp skin at the base of her skull. “If you don’t shut up, we’re going to get caught, and that won’t be fun for either of us.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t do something useful in the next three seconds, I will leave this bathroom.” Lydia glares at him over her shoulder. “Either way, I’m getting off. The only thing up for debate is if you’re involved.”

In the reflection of the mirror, Lydia sees the devastation she has created. His jaw drops, his fingers curl with a bruising force into the flesh of her inner thighs, and he squeezes his eyes closed so hard she thinks the creases around his eyes might become permanent. He’s flushed and his dark shock of hair sticks out in all directions.There’s a dark splotch on his shoulder alongside some rather impressive scratch marks under his collarbone, both of which she may possibly be guilty of causing during their activities in the Jeep before arriving here.

Lydia looks no better. There are red marks littering the delicate skin of her neck, her bra twisted completely out of shape around her ribs. Stiles had stubbornly insisted she keep her palms flat against the glass, her muscles aching deliciously with the effort, and her meticulously applied lipstick is now smudged across her chin. She looks like a trainwreck, and she fucking loves it.

“Stiles!” she snaps, and like she’s hit play, he bursts back into life, two fingers entering her while the other hand presses into her cheek so he can slip his tongue into her mouth. His palm presses into her clit and her hips rut against it, desperation for release making her forget about his no-touching rule. She tugs at his hair, wants him to consume her so fiercely that she almost screams in frustration when he removes his touch completely.

Bored with his little game, Lydia turns into his grasp, scratching up his torso as she takes off his shirt, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clash.

“Fuck, Lyds…” he hisses, pressing into her impossibly further, the sink edge digging into her spine.

“Trousers,” she orders, patience waning as he rushes to comply.

In the fourteen months they’ve been together, they have had plenty of practise at this, so they know the ways to evoke maximum pleasure in a limited time frame. It takes very little time before he presses a hand over her mouth as she crescendos, his groan of release muffled by his lips on her neck.

Catching her breath takes an embarrassing amount of time, in which Stiles supports her weight with one arm, the other carding through her hair as she comes down. Lydia exhales a laugh, and kisses him sweetly.

“That,” she gasps, “was definitely the best so far.”

Stiles smirks, pulling away from her to help fix her bra. “Worth every second.”

After they attempt to make themselves look like they haven’t just had sex in the clinic bathroom, Stiles pokes his head out, squinting into the dark as Lydia collects her jacket from where it had been discarded. Safety assured, they link hands and creep through the examination room, giggles echoing around the room as they rush to the fire exit.

“So there I was, enjoying a well deserved sleep after spending a great day celebrating the return of the pack for the summer, when I’m awoken by an alarm.” Stiles and Lydia skid to a holt. In the reception area, Scott is pacing with bedraggled hair, still in his pyjama bottoms, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets. “Imagine my surprise when I arrive to find a Jeep outside, my keycard missing from my wallet, and noises no one wants to hear coming from his two best friend’s who seem to have decided that breaking into my place of work to sleep together is a fantastic idea.”

Apparently, Stiles believes this all deserves a high five, holding up a palm ready for Scott as he grins like the proverbial cat who got the cream. “You’re right, It  _ was  _ a fantastic idea.”

“Stop trying to get me to high five you every time you have sex.”

“Scotty, we were on the phone for forty five minutes after the first time you slept with Kira.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to text me  _ every  _ time. It’s been over a year.”

Lydia steps behind Stiles, hiding her amusement in the sleeve of her jacket. How is one of these dorks her best friend? How is she in love with the other?

Scott is still deeply unimpressed, and Stiles finally lets his hand fall back to his side.

“Come on, Stiles, why is the clinic of all places on your weird summer sex list?”

Not in the least bit surprised that Scott knows about it (they may have only been home from college for five days, but they’ve achieved quite a bit), Lydia speaks before Stiles gets the chance to make this worse. “I’m sorry, Scott. You’re right. We shouldn’t have done it.”

Stiles sniggers. “Speak for yourself. I’m not sorry at all.” Her elbow makes harsh contact with his ribs. “Ow!”

Scott sighs, already headed to the exit. “Can we all just go so I can get back to bed?”

“That sounds like another fantastic idea, don’t you think?” she whispers in his ear, stepping around her boyfriend to follow the alpha. After the alarm is reset and Scott has grumbled his way back to his bike, Lydia opens the passenger door and a sharp crack echoes through the night.

“Stiles!” she yelps, ass cheek stinging as she whirls towards him. The smug idiot just  _ winks. _


	6. Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia stays at Stiles' bedside after another plan gone wrong.

There’s a full moon shining through the window, clouds blocking out the stars. It’s almost still on the ward. The only sounds she can detect are Scott huffing into his phone outside and the steady hum of machinery, the heart monitor muted on his other side. She's lost track of time slightly, can only guess from the full moon shining through the window, the sky navy instead of black, that a new day is breaking for those who have been lucky enough to sleep. 

Lydia is not one of those people.

Looking back to the man in the bed, Lydia sighs wistfully. Stiles looks remarkably peaceful considering five hours ago he managed to sass an omega into pushing him out of a second story window.

How she’s in love with the fool, she’ll never know.

Lydia has her right hand against his chest, chin resting on top as she stares up at him, humming softly as she waits. He got lucky really: a couple of fractured ribs, mild concussion, significant bruising across his shoulder blades. There’s some cuts across one side of his face that she knows he’s going to  _ love _  using them as undeniable proof that he is a badass. 

There's a twitch beneath her as he finally stirs.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” he croaks, and she sees his amber eyes smiling down at her. The weight on her chest lifts, and she can finally breathe. “You, me, hospital rooms…”

Lydia doesn’t move, continues to sweep her thumb across his stubble as a tear slips down into the juncture between her fingers. 

“Were you… Were you humming ‘Baby Got Back’?”

“I was considering if letting you touch my ass would be the only way to wake you up.”

It should be lighthearted, but she’s tired and has spent way too much of her life inside hospital rooms.

The smile slips off his face and he cups her jaw, finger drifting over her cheekbone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, sincerity flooding his dark eyes.

“You are definitely not forgiven.”

His brow furrows in that ridiculous apologetic way that is supposed to be endearing.

“Lyds…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolds, pulling away from his reach. “When has looking at me like that ever got you anywhere.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Last summer when we found that bouncy castle -”

“No!” 

It ricochets around the room like an alpha roar, her rage intensifying as she throws back her chair, gripping her hair in an attempt to control her anger. Stiles’s jaw snaps shut, and he winces at the sound. 

“You are such… You can’t just… You’re not  _ bait  _ Stiles! Just because you’re human doesn’t mean you get to be the idiot that sacrifices himself so the werewolves have time to get their heads out of their asses!”

Stiles tries to take her hand again but she wrenches away. “Scott was right outside, he just needed a little more time to -”

“That’s not my problem!” Lydia grasps at the air around her, silently begging him to understand. “ _ You _ are  my problem. You are human, Stiles. You’re not invincible. You keep acting like it but you’re not; you’re breakable, and I can’t…" She struggles with the words, caressing his jaw as she pleads with him, green eyes full of tears. "Stop making me dread every time the phone rings. Stop making me terrified that the next scream in my throat is for you. Stop being so naive that you think you can’t  _ die." _

His teeth sink into the flesh of his bottom lip when he sees the new tear tracks washing away the old.

"Lydia..."

"You are not expendable to me, Stiles. Why can’t you get that?!”

Stiles covers the hands on either side of his face with his own, pressing a kiss into her palm. “I do, I know. It was never the plan to -”

Lydia shakes her head, turning her attention to the ceiling to try and stop crying. “It never is the plan. Scott would never put you at that much risk. But you do it anyway, again and again.”

“I have to save them. I have to keep you all safe.”

A sob rips out of her chest because he’s giving her the  _ look _ , the one that tells her she’s everything to him, that he adores her, that she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen even though she knows there’s mascara running down her face and she’s so pale from the worry that no amount of bronzer can fix it. 

“I need  _ you  _ to be safe.”

A hand slips around her waist and she lets him pull her down, settling into his hold as he tries to soothe her. They’ve had this conversation a thousand times in a hundred different ways and they always reach this point, the stalemate that is their desire to keep each other away from harm no matter the cost. Both would die for the other, and no amount of arguing will curb that instinct.

Her tears dry and Lydia tucks herself into him as much as she can without hurting his ribs, ear pressed to his chest, listening for proof that he is alive. He’s tapping an uneven beat into her spinal column, and she realises he’s muttering under his breath.

“Are you singing Baby Got Back?”

“It’s distracting me from touching your ass.”

The tension broken, Lydia buries her smile in his chest, hospital gown still damp, the fabric cool against her skin.

“Scott, you can come in now,” Stiles mutters, and by the time the last word leaves his lips their alpha is in front of them, relief flooding his demeanour. 

“Thank God, I hate listening to you fight.” Scott’s got blood on his collar despite no visible sign of injury, and there’s a slash through the fabric of his sleeve. Absently, she wonders how much he spends on replacing his wardrobe each month. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles promises, tightening his grip on her when she tries to move to allow them some time. “Did you get him?”

“Argent and Malia are dealing with it.” Stiles goes for a fist bump, but at the last second Scott switches to grasp the fist, veins instantly turning black. Stiles shakes him off with a smile.

“I’m okay, Scotty. Really.”

Scott glances at her to check, and she nods, sitting up just enough to still be held but also be involved. “He’s okay for now, but we might need you after I throw him out of another window for being so stupid.”

Scott sways, guilt twisting his mouth. “I didn’t mean for -”

“It’s not your fault, Scott. You don’t need to apologise.” Lydia exhales heavily, looking at her boyfriend’s forced innocence. “Nothing can stop him from running into dangerous situations with little to no thought.”

Melissa enters the room with a quiet knock, squeezing her son’s shoulder tenderly as she passes. Her hair is swept up into a loose bun, and she sweeps an escaped section away from her face. Glancing at his vitals, Melissa asks, “How are you feeling?”

She poses the question to Stiles, but looks at Lydia as she speaks. Lydia flashes her a anxious smile.

Stiles shrugs. “Like I got pushed out of a window.”

“Funny,” Melissa deadpans, fiddling with his IV drip. “I take it you’ve been suitably scolded for your behaviour.”

“Lydia may have raised her voice a little.” Stiles looks at her apologetically as she traces their names into his sternum.

“And your dad will be here in a few to make sure you got the message.”

Stiles groans, while Lydia and Scott share a look. “You might want to stick around then, my dad is definitely going to try to kill me.”


	7. Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles is so distracted by his girlfriend that is almost ends in disaster.

Stiles is about 90% sure that the only reason he’s still alive is because the heavy bass is vibrating so much in his veins that it’s taken over the task of the useless lump of mush in his chest that is supposed to be his heart. Though he’s also pretty sure all of his blood is in his dick so…

There’s hundreds of people around them but the only thing he’s aware of is Lydia’s nails scraping his back, the cup of his favourite bra peeking from her dangerously low neckline, and the feel of her skin under his palms where it is buried beneath her skirt.

“Stiles,” she tries, but her voice is way too breathy to have any kind of authority. The groan he releases is pressed into her neck, his mouth attached to the delicate skin under her ear. “You’re losing focus.”

Stiles kisses his way up, licking into her mouth in a way that makes her knees shake and her nails dig in just a little deeper.

“You're supposed to be watching the DJ.”

“I _ am _ watching the DJ.”

“No, you're…” Stiles’s fingers slip from her ass and graze between her legs. “ _ Stiles _ .”

His head finally pops up from her neck and his teeth flash in the neon lights, smile way too innocent for someone with such a wandering hand. “Yes Lydia?”

“There's a very high chance of a wendigo killing the patrons of this club, yet you seem intent on letting it find another victim.” Lydia gives him a disapproving look, forcing herself to tug at the arm that is disappearing under her skirt.

“We're blending in.”

“The rest of the pack is blending in just fine without feeling the need to try to finger me in the middle of a dance floor.”

Stiles shoots a glare towards the bar where Scott and Kira are stationed to watch the bar staff, as if his best friend might try and do such a thing. He then shrugs, trails his hands back to a more sensible placement on her hips, and takes a deep breath. “It's hard for me to focus when you're wearing that bra. You know I've been positively reinforced to be turned on every time you wear it.”

Lydia glances down, sees the scallop edging of blue lace. “Excuse me for wanting to wear the present my boyfriend oh so graciously bought me for our anniversary.”

“I think your boyfriend should be rewarded immensely for such a thoughtful gift.” 

“Oh I think he’s been rewarded plenty.”

His lips are almost touching her neck again when she presses against his forehead to stop him.

“The bodyguard. Where is he?”

Stiles is immediately back to business, sharp eyes taking in the crowd at the door. No guard in sight.

“Looks like your theory was right.”

“Of course it was.” Lydia stretches her neck, preparing for battle. “Get the others, I'll meet you outside.”

She brushes past him, but he stops her, his demeanour tense, his gaze full of worry and fear. “Wait, Lyds…”

Lydia grants him a lingering kiss, thumb brushing his chin. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Using his love to strengthen her, Lydia slips easily through the crowd to the door, and when she finds the guard in an alley with his teeth in a man’s throat, it's his love that steadies her as she aims her power directly at him, taking him down in one perfectly executed hit.


	8. Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lydia may be a little irrational, but it's all Stiles's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in like half hour between doing a hundred other things so it's probably not that great but... Eh. Concerned Stydia is too adorable.
> 
> There is also a little borrowing of a Brooklyn Nine-Nine quote, because it just fit and made me laugh.
> 
> I had to create a new Tumblr (which is truly heartbreaking, I feel like I've lost five years of my life) so if you wanna chat, I'm simmartln.

If Scott McCall doesn’t answer his phone in the next two seconds, she’s going to commit multiple bloody murders to him, over and over, until the end of time. There's going to be a lot of blood, maybe some burning, and she could probably work up a few decent banshee screams that will crush his stupid little uneven face that won't answer the goddamn phone.

 The line clicks, and she’s about to begin her scolding when:

“Don’t answer the phone, she’s being ridiculous.”

“She’s worried.”

“She’s crazy.”

“Let me talk to her for just a moment, try to calm her down.”

“You can't reason with a crazy person, we should -”

The growl that tears from Lydia's chest is far more werewolf than human. “Tell my husband that he’s one syllable away from a very nasty divorce.”

There's a scuffling noise in which she assumes Scott is telling Stiles he had answered the phone. She rolls her eyes and lets the tinny sound of the car's engine ease the tension in her shoulders. Driving means they aren't there yet. Driving means they're safe, means they're alive.

Finally, Stiles clears his throat, but it doesn't stop his voice squeaking slightly as he says, “ _Hey_ , wifey! I love you so so so much!”

“Bite me,” she hisses, digging her manicure into the blanket thrown across her lap. “Scott, you there?”

“I'm here. Stiles is driving.”

“Tell him I hope his stupid Jeep explodes.”

Scott chuckle is somewhat forced, unsure how serious she is. Which she is. Deadly serious.

“Did you update Kira?" 

“She's with Liam and Mason, I text them the details.”

There's further muttering before the alpha huffs. “Stiles wants you to prove you're at home.” Something that sounds suspiciously like Stiles groaning in pain echoes through the phone. “I hit him for you.”

"Couldn't it at least have waited until after I'm operating heavy machinery?"

“Should have hit him harder," she says in a low voice, but there's no malice behind it. Not now her mind has started spinning again.

"Thanks, babe!" Stiles calls dryly.

Lydia just sighs, trying to sort through what she needs to say. There's an unpleasant coil of something pressing down on her chest and she's been trying to ignore it since the boys left earlier that morning. She's experienced enough to know it's not banshee related, but she's concerned all the same. Her entire world is in that car, and...

“Scott, I need you to -”

“I will.”

“You know what he's like -”

“It's gonna be fine.”

“You have to bring him back.” Lydia presses her lips tight together. “I need you to keep him safe.”

“No matter what,” Scott promises, and she forces herself to settle into the pillow behind her, the promise in his tone a balm on her frazzled nerves.

A new voice echoes through the speaker, trying a little too hard to mimic the gentleness of their best friend's voice.

“Lydia, honey, seems like you’re suffering from a case of the psycho hormones.”

“Stiles, honey, if you didn’t want to deal with it you should have worn a fucking condom," she snarls before exhaling loudly. "Now hand me back to Scott; you know the studies behind car accidents and the use of phones.”

Another scuffle. Lydia groans. “Hands free. No danger of crashing. Now tell me what’s got you so panicked.”

“You know what’s got me so panicked.” She wants to spit the words at him, but the annoyance in her tone fades to concern as the reason why she’s panicking returns to the forefront mind.

“There’s no reason this trip has to turn into anything dangerous. It’s just checking some stuff out, getting intel mostly. Everything is gonna be fine, and I’ll be home in time for the scan tomorrow.”

Lydia rubs a hand over where the baby is kicking up a storm, pouting a little at the sight of her ringless, swollen finger. “I want you to text me with minute by minute updates. I need to know everything. If you miss even one, I’m going to assume I’m a widower.”

“That seems a little over the top.”

“My baby will not be a sad little orphan. A mother-having, lonely orphan.”

There's a crunching of gravel, perhaps, and she knows he's pulled over the car when his voice is suddenly clearer, like he's right there in the room with her. She clutches the phone with white knuckles, listening closely to his breathing, how he speaks quietly, as if trying to make the moment more private for them. “My darling, angel of my life, please. Everything is gonna be okay. Lyds, you gotta stop worrying.”

Lydia rolls her eyes but feels the ghost of a smile tug at her cheek at his desperation. “Oh wow, instantly my concern has disappeared.”

“There’s no reason for you to be concerned, babe. Everything is gonna be fine, but I need you to calm down. It's not good for you to be this stressed.”

“Stiles.” Lydia refuses to cry, has spent way too much of this pregnancy crying as it is. “Come home, okay?” And then, because she can’t stand the way her heart is pounding, she adds, “Keep that ass of mine safe.”

She imagines his soft smile at that, can hear it through the static. “What about the face?”

“If you have to choose, I’d rather the ass.” There’s a pause, and she watches her bump, both seeing and feeling a kick on her left side. “Baby wants you home safe too.”

Stiles chuckles. “I promise.”

“And I’m going to text you my current craving when you’re on your way home.”

“I’ll pick up whatever you want.”

“And while you’re there, we’re out of milk. And chocolate.”

“I left you three bars of your favourite in the living room dresser.”

A silent tear stains her cheek. “I love you.”

"I love you too. So much." He says it so reverently that she swears she can feel his lips grazing her ear with the words. “Your mom’s on her way, and she swore she was going to bring your old cot so we can get started on the baby’s room this weekend and - Are you crying?”

“No,” she sobs. “Oh god, I hate being pregnant.”

“Three months left, sweetie.”

He’s rounding up but it makes her feel better anyway.

“I should be there with you.”

“You’re on bed-rest. You’re not even allowed to go to the pharmacy for your meds.” The concern slips back into his tone, and she knows that the expression on his face now is the one he’s been wearing for the entire month since the diagnosis.

“It’s a mild case, Stiles, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Pre-eclampsia is a very big deal. You’re not going anywhere until it’s time for Maggie for come into the world.”

Lydia smiles but keeps the amusement out of her voice. “We’re not naming her Maggie.”

“Maisy?”

“I’m gonna hang up now, Stiles.”

“Mindy?”

“Goodbye Stiles. Goodbye Scott.”

“Bye Lydia,” Scott calls, and as the line cuts off, she finally feels herself relax.


End file.
